


Lace

by wingedcatninja



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean x Heather, F/M, Lingerie Kink, SPN Dean Bingo 2019, Smut, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2019, Woman on Top, one-night-stand, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: “You don't remember Heather? The hunter that we worked a wendigo case a couple years ago?”This is the story of how Dean met Heather.
Relationships: Heather/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1242605
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2019





	Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Kink Bingo and SPN Dean Bingo. Also my contribution to [@crashdevlin](https://crashdevlin.tumblr.com) Cassie’s 2k Follower Dean Review-abration. I chose [Foreigner’s _Hot Blooded_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXo28e30SKc&list=PLGOmwGE7pYCu7yvAni7-72YAAPKzKUb0T&index=1) as my prompt.
> 
> Square Filled ([@spnkinkbingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com/)): Lingerie  
Square Filled ([@spndeanbingo](https://spndeanbingo.tumblr.com/)): Hustling Pool
> 
> I apologize for nothing.

When you live on the road you kind of have to keep your possessions at a minimum out of necessity. Instead of stuff, you hoard memories. Good and bad. One of my favorite memories, the kind that I like to curl up with at night, that makes the crappy motel rooms, or the backseat of my car, seem a little less empty, is of the time I met Dean Winchester. 

It must be five years ago now, at least. I had just rolled into this small town at the ass-end of nowhere. I was hunting what I thought might be a wendigo, but I arrived too late in the day to get anything constructive done, so I was spending the evening at the bar closest to the cheap motel where I was staying. It was around 10 p.m., I had knocked back a few beers already and was enjoying a nice quiet game of pool by myself when they walked in. 

Tall and taller sauntered into the bar, their eyes taking in the room at a glance, clocking the exits automatically. That and the denim-and-flannel uniform pegged them as hunters. To me, at least. 

I have always preferred keeping to myself, but occasionally I do drop by a known hunter hangout just to keep up with the gossip. It made these two easy enough to identify as the Winchester brothers. I had thought they were dead; clearly, this was not the case. I kept an eye on the two of them discreetly, while I pretended to drop pool balls. 

Bellied up to the bar, they were seemingly deep in conversation with each other. I figured they must be there for the wendigo, the same as I was. For a moment, I considered calling it quits and moving on, but my competitive nature stopped me. I watched as their conversation wound down and they settled in with their drinks and looking around the room. 

A glass of whiskey in hand and a panty-melting smile on his lips, he sauntered over to the pool table. 

“Hey there.”

I decided to play it cool and only nodded in greeting while taking aim at the eight-ball.

“Looks like you know your way around a pool cue,” he drawled, still smiling.

I only shrugged and took my shot, sinking the ball in the corner pocket. The rack was sitting where I left it, on the edge of the pool table right next to where he was standing. When he noticed that I was coming over, he picked it up and wiggled it.

“Mind if I join you for a game?”

I nodded, agreeing. I still felt wary, having heard enough about the Winchesters to want to keep my distance. There was no need for them to know that I was in the same business as them.

Dean racked the balls expertly and picked up a cue, then offered me to break. Never one to turn down an advantage, I accepted, leaning over the table and taking aim. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him checking me out. No big deal, I am used to guys checking me out. Small towns have slim pickings. Also, I look good.

I may have put a little extra effort into my posture. What can I say, I enjoy a hot guy looking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his eyes stray down my body, taking in the tight-fitting tank top, and the jeans that fit like they were painted on me. His eyes lingered where the tank top had ridden up, exposing some skin and showing a bit of lace where my panties showed above the waistband of my jeans. 

Smirking, I took the shot, sending the balls rolling across the green felt, two striped balls dropping in opposite corner pockets. When I stood up, he was right there; a wall of toned muscle towering over even my respectable five feet and seven inches. For a moment I was sucked into the mossy depths of his eyes. I was saved from drowning when his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, drawing my attention. Mentally kicking myself, I smiled up at him.

“Looks like you’re outta luck,” I quipped.

I brushed past him and felt the silent laugh vibrate through his body. He shrugged and leaned on the pool cue, apparently content to watch me. While I sank ball after ball he stayed silent. Each time I glanced his way though, he was openly checking me out. He seemed almost hypnotized by the tiny edge of lace that peeked out above my waistband every time I bent over to take a shot. 

About half-way through the game, I heard a familiar song intro blast from the jukebox. When I looked up I saw him making a face at his brother, who was smirking suggestively and giving thumbs-up while he headed out of the bar. 

“Subtle,” I commented as I passed by him again to line up another shot.

“Yeah, ain’t he just,” he growled back.

No lie, that sound sent a shiver up my spine. The song was one of my favorites, had been since the first time I heard it a good twenty years ago. My hips did a little shimmy while I lined up the next shot, and I saw his eyes drawn to the sight. Glancing up at him, I gave him a lopsided smirk. 

To this day I have no idea if I missed the shot on purpose, subconsciously, or if I was just that distracted by the wink he threw back at me. I did miss though, and that made it his turn. We traded places, him lining up his first shot while I leaned on my pool cue where he had been standing before. Not even trying to resist the urge, I blatantly ogled his ass when he bent over to take the shot, making sure he saw what I was doing. 

He was clearly good at the game, sinking ball after ball, quickly catching up to me. I was unconcerned though. There was no money riding on the game, and also I was distracted by the song still blasting from the jukebox. I swayed in place, mouthing along with the lyrics while enjoying the sight of this hot guy’s sweet ass and broad shoulders. I started to feel a familiar warmth spreading through my body and converging between my legs.

He dropped the 8-ball, winning the game. Standing up, he gestured at the table.

“Another game?”

I moved into his space, taking the cue out of his hand and laying it and my own on the pool table.

“Yeah, we could do that. Or...we could get outta here,” I suggested, hoping he would choose the latter.

His hands came to rest on my upper arms, not holding or squeezing, just resting there, and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips again. It was very distracting.

“To do more than dance?” Those full lips quirked up into a mischievous smirk.

“Oh yeah.” 

“Lead the way,” he drawled, clearly on board for whatever I had in mind.

Grabbing my jacket, I headed out of the bar, feeling his solid presence behind me. The motel was just on the other side of the road and we ran across in between the heavy trucks rumbling along through the night. In the sparse light of the motel parking lot, I spotted the legendary Impala parked in front of a room a few doors away from my own.  [ My cherry red Chevelle ](https://i.imgur.com/r7wl4RA.jpg) seemed almost to shrink in the presence of the heavier Impala. I patted her reassuringly when we passed by. 

When I turned around after unlocking the motel room door, he was just pulling his eyes away from my car and looking back at me. Somehow he managed to look gorgeous even in the ugly orange light of the motel parking lot. I crooked my finger, beckoning him to follow when I backed in through the open door, tossing my jacket aside.

By the time he made it inside, I had pulled up the same song from the bar on my phone, the familiar sounds coming out of the phone’s speaker. He smirked when he heard it, tossing his own jacket aside and kicking his boots off.

Before he could come any closer I had pushed his back up against the closed door, my lips crushing his. I felt like there was an actual fever burning my blood and he was more than willing to help me quench the fire. 

My memory gets a little fuzzy here. There were hands fumbling at buttons and zippers, clothes being tossed across the room or dropped at our feet. We only broke apart long enough to get the offending fabric out of the way. Lips sucking, tongues stroking, it was just a frenzy of trying to get closer, to soothe some of the burn by feeling our bodies pressed together, skin to skin.

His large hands came to rest on my ribs, just below my breasts. His thumbs brushed over my aching nipples through the lace of my bra. It has always been the only luxury I allow myself, sexy lingerie even under jeans and flannel. I felt his cock against my body, already hard and eager. He ground it against the lace of my panties, a small moan escaping his lips. 

He seemed suddenly calm, lifting me up and laying me carefully on top of the bed. When I saw the look in his eyes, I stretched, cat-like, and smirked up at him. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” he growled.

“Yeah, you just gonna stand there and look at me all night? ‘Cause that’s not gonna work for me,” I quipped back, my hands caressing my own body.

Taking the hint, he got on the foot end of the bed, his big calloused hands caressing my legs on either side of him while he seemed mesmerized by the sight of the red lace against my relatively pale skin. When he finally pulled his eyes away from my lingerie, it was to kiss and lick the soft skin of my inner thighs, alternating between them. His hands slid up the outside of my legs, coming to rest on my hips, still feeling the lace of my panties against his palms. 

The kisses fanned the fire in my blood and I felt the moan slip past my lips. He teased me with soft touches, his lips barely brushing over my lace-covered pussy. I heard him breathe in my scent, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to leave bruises. I wanted to close my eyes and get lost in the sensations, but I found it impossible to look away from the sight of him between my legs, so obviously enjoying himself.

He kissed along the edge of the panties, so close to where I wanted him to touch me. It was torture. I only realized that my arms had moved when I felt the soft prickling of his hair against my palms, pressing his face against me, grinding my covered pussy on his face. 

Finally, his fingers curled under the waistband of my ruined panties, pulling them over my hips and down my legs. Then he was back, his thick fingers brushing through the soft curls between my legs, still teasing, taking his time. He kissed his way up my legs again, moving so slowly that I finally growled at him to stop teasing and just get to it already. I felt the vibration of his laugh through my body. 

He listened though, finally using those thick blunt fingers to spread my folds and place an almost chaste kiss on my clit. As if that tiny taste had been the last straw, he licked a broad stripe along my entire slit, then dove in like a starved man. His lips, tongue, and fingers found every one of my sensitive spots, alternating between them, winding me up like a spring until I was so tightly coiled I had no choice but to release.

My hands clenched in his hair, making him grunt against me at the slight pain. His head was squished between my thighs, held in place while I shook and trembled through my orgasm. Without thinking, I pulled him up until I could taste myself on his lips and tongue. 

“Fuck me. Hard and fast,” I growled against his lips.

Still kissing me, I felt him fumble around beside the bed, groping for his pants. When he finally had the condom in hand, he sat up and I watched him in a daze while he slipped it onto his hard cock. Even that part of him was pretty. It made me unreasonably angry. 

Before he could get inside me, I had flipped us over and was straddling his hips. I lined him up with one hand, holding his cock steady while I sank down on it. It had been a while and the slight burn when he filled me was delicious. I braced my hands on his broad chest, fingers brushing against the prominent anti-possession tattoo, and moved slowly. It was my turn to torture him now. 

I rolled my hips, feeling his cock move inside me. The groan he let out made my whole body tingle. I ground my swollen clit against his pelvis, chasing my second orgasm, using him as a sex toy. He seemed not to mind, judging by the loud moans and grunts dripping from his lips. 

The orgasm was still rippling through me when he set his feet on the bed and snapped his hips up against me, driving his cock deeper into me hard. I cried out from the feeling of being virtually impaled and leaned back, bracing my hands on his muscled thighs. His hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place while he thrust up into me just the way I had told him to, hard and fast. The room filled with the sounds of both of our gasping breaths mingled with my moans and whimpers, and his labored grunts while he chased his release. 

One broad thumb rubbing my sensitive clit hard threw me over the edge for the third time, my pussy clenching desperately around his cock inside me. He thrust hard a couple more times before stilling, his body trembling beneath me. 

It took me a while to catch my breath. In fact, I fell asleep before I did, waking up to the sound of soft snores in my ear. My body ached, but it was a good ache. Also, totally worth it. When I got out of the shower, he was sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Hey, y’know, it just occurred to me, I don’t even know your name, sweetheart,” he rumbled.

“It’s Heather,” I told him, feeling the laughter bubbling up inside me. “And you’re Dean Winchester. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Ugh. Not all bad, I hope,” he seemed annoyed more than anything.

“I prefer to make up my own mind,” I told him.

“Oh, good,” he flashed a grin, then cocked his head. “It was good, right?”

“It was ok,” I replied airily, managing to keep a straight face for just long enough to see his face fall. 

We killed the wendigo later that evening, Sam joining us for the hunt. Dean seemed to want to ask me to stick around, but since he did not say anything out loud, I took off. I would never tell him to his face, but Dean Winchester may well have ruined me for other men for the foreseeable future.


End file.
